The Fighting Pits
by Shazza72
Summary: How did Jorah end up in the fighting pits of Mereen?
1. Chapter 1

**THE FIGHTING PITS**

When the slavers finally arrived in Mereen, Tyrion and Ser Jorah shuffled off the ship in chains. Tyrion with his short legs found the gang plank difficult going, so much so that he nearly fell off. If it wasn't for Ser Jorah grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers he would have fallen into the stinking water and drowned.

Once on the dock, the slave master cracked his whip and herded them towards the markets. The irony of his situation wasn't lost on Jorah. He had sold men into slavery and now here he was wearing chains. Along the road they heard how the Queen had agreed to re-open the fighting pits to celebrate her upcoming nuptials. Jorah didn't believe it at first. How could she? Ever since he had known her, Danerys had fought to free slaves, and now it was unfathomable that she would sit and watch men die, simply for entertainment.

Disheartened Jorah hung his head and shuffled along thinking thoughts of Bear Island. As the glaring sun burnt his skin, and his dry mouth cried out for water, funnily enough he thought of snow. He was a northerner, brought up in the cold. Until he came to Essos, he never thought he would miss the winter, but now he would give anything to feel snowflakes falling on his face again.

He glanced to his left and spotted Tyrion stumbling along. He expected the dwarf would be sold to act as a fool for some Mereenesse noble. He had wits enough to entertain, and would likely avoid ending up in the fighting pits. Jorah knew he would likely die in sight of Danerys' pyramid on the hot sand of the arena. He was a good swordsman but he also knew that there was the very real possibility that it would not be men he faced in the arena. Lions, wild cats, even bears were sometimes sent in for the amusement of the crowds.

The slave master called them to a halt with a lash of his whip. He pointed to a large cage, and they moved inside. Jorah looked at his companions while he waited for his turn on the auction block. Most were sailors from the ship he and Tyrion had been on. He thought that he was most likely the only swordsman in the group, most other the others would be sold for lion's folly in the arena or as household slaves.

The master and one of his helpers dragged Tyrion from the cage next. The dwarf looked back over his shoulder at Jorah as they took him away. Probably to thinking "this is all your fault Jorah". He was probably right. If he hadn't been so set on getting back into the Deanery's' good graces, neither of them would be in this mess. If he hadn't let his feelings for the young Queen cloud his judgement, if he had confessed his betrayal to her earlier, if he had never agreed to spy on her and her brother? If? If? If?

Eventually they came for him. Two big guards, so filthy Jorah could see the lice crawling on them, reeking of sweat, shit and something else altogether foul, each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him from the cage. They stopped next to the platform and the auctioneer looked Jorah over.

"The shirt." He ordered and one of the guards yanked Jorah's shirt over his head, leaving it to hang over his hands, covering his shackles.

"We want our buyers to see what sort of man they are going to spend their coin on." The auctioneer gave him a rotten toothed smile.

They shoved him up onto the wooden platform that served as the auction block. From his slightly elevated position Jorah could see Tyrion standing next to the man that had purchased him. It was Hizdahr zo Loraq, the man that had convinced Danerys to allow him to remove his father's body from the crucifixes that lined the city walls. The same man she had sent to Yunkai with Daario Naharis to re-take the city from the masters. The sight of the man made him wonder what he had promised Danerys to convince her to marry him. Jorah said a silent curse at Ser Barristan letting her go through with the marriage. Surely by now Selmy would know that their young liege was prone to making poor decisions based on the promise of ships or soldiers. Jorah liked to think that he could have talked her out of it, like he had done before. He smirked a little when he thought of how Daario Naharis must have taken the news.

"Big and strong this one, killed three men when they captured him." The auctioneer bellowed. "Do I hear any bids?"

The bidding started slowly, but Jorah was too lost in his own thoughts to realise that Hizdahr zo Loraq had spotted him on the block.

"Sold!" The auctioneer boomed, and the two guards yanked Jorah from the platform. They dragged him away from the auction site and shoved him to knees in front of a smithy. The blacksmith put down his hammer and picked up a metal collar from a selection on the bench at the front of this store. The guards held their prisoner while the smith placed the collar around Jorah's neck and locked it in place. He attached two heavy lengths of chain to the collar, one he attached to the shackles and the other he handed to one of the guards, along with the key.

The collar was tight and heavy around his throat, and it took all of his self-control to not try and yank it off his neck. The guards laughed and tugged on the chain, pulling him to his feet. Jorah stumbled after them. With the collar chained to his shackles, it restricted his movement even more. There was no way he could escape from them, at least without the key.

They lead Jorah to one of the storehouses in the shadow of the pyramid. They shoved him inside and locked the door. He stood looking at the door for long time, in the darkness, before fumbling around to find a wall to sit down against. It was a relief to be out from under the burning sun. Jorah slipped a finger under the collar to hold it away from his throat. He wondered why they had brought him to the storehouse and not to the cells beneath the fighting pits. He doubted very much that the person who had bought him wanted him to guard his storehouse.

It was night time before Jorah heard someone at the door. The bolt slid open and a man with a torch entered. The blazing light of the torch hurt Jorah's eyes and he tried to lift up his hands to shield his eyes.

"Ser Jorah Mormont." The man mocked. "Once the Queens favoured advisor and now here you are sitting in the dirt wearing chains."

Jorah didn't recognise the man's voice.

"Danerys told me of your betrayal." He continued, and Jorah realised who the man was. "I was surprised to see you at the auction today. I understand Danerys told you that she would have you executed if you returned to Mereen?"

Hizdahr obviously liked the sound of his own voice, and Jorah did not want to give the smug bastard the satisfaction of responding to him.

"Hmm. You have nothing to say?" Hizdahr squatted down in front of him and fingered the chain that ran from his collar to the shackles around his wrists. "I am going to give you to my lovely bride as wedding gift." He yanked on the chain, pulling Jorah towards him. "When the fighting pits re-open tomorrow you will be part of the main event. A fight to the death against five champions of the pits." Hizdahr chuckled wickedly. "And you will die like a dog in front of your precious Queen." He sneered and shoved Jorah back against the wall.

When the door closed, Jorah slumped back against the wall. Tears welled in his eyes, not out of fear of dying but out of disappointment. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. How many more people would he let down? The list was long. It started with his father and ended with Danerys, or did it? Perhaps Tyrion was right. Perhaps the person he had let down the most was himself. Poor decisions, no, not poor decisions, following his heart instead of his head. If he hadn't been fool in love he might have been of better service to the Queen.

What Jorah didn't know was that Danerys was in more danger than even she knew. The deal she had made with Hizdahr zo Loraq for peace would likely mean she would never leave Essos. She had chained two of her dragons and third, the wildest, had not been seen in weeks. Dany's deal for peace had effectively nailed her feet to the floor. She was without her dragons and without friends.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrion could not believe how bad his luck was. Actually he was starting to believe that he must have torched on a weirwood tree in a past life, because his luck was really appalling! What seemed like decades ago he had had a comfortable life of whoring and raucous drinking, but now he was stuck on a shitty little boat nursing a bruised jaw and a hangover.

Everything had been fine until he had gone into that inn last night. Varys was an interesting travelling companion but hardly exciting, so Tyrion had gone looking for a little trouble to fill in the night. Well into his third flagon of wine and second wench of the evening, trouble found him. Trouble that went by the name of Ser Jorah Mormont.

Tyrion knew that the man had been one of Varys' little birds who had stopped reporting on the Targaryen Princess some time ago, and that Ned Stark had wanted to execute him for selling a couple of slaves many years ago. Apart from that, Tyrion had found out quite quickly that where the Princess was concerned, the Knight had little sense of humour. Tyrion couldn't even remember what it was that he had said, but Mormont had taken enough offense to knock him to the ground.

Bruised face, aching jaw and pounding head aside, Tyrion knew his situation wasn't rosy. Even if Varys was able to locate him before they reached Kings Landing, he doubted there was much he could do to save him from Cersei.

"You know she won't thank you." He informed his new travelling companion.

"What?" Ser Jorah snapped.

"Cersei won't thank you for taking me to her. She'll probably hang you for it." Tyrion explained.

"We aren't going to Kings Landing." Jorah told him.

"But you said the Queen…oh! You mean Danerys." Now Tyrion understood. Ser Jorah was taking him to _his_ Queen to use as a means to win her favour back. He should have worked that out sooner. Varys had told him that Mormont had been devoted to Danerys before she exiled him when she found out he had spied on her. Perhaps it was the hangover. What he wouldn't have done for a skin of wine!

"So you think she will forgive you when you hand me over to her?" Tyrion knew that if he was to talk his way out this situation that he had to get to know the man holding his chains, so to speak.

The man didn't answer but gave a slight shrug.

"Because you know I could be a lot of help to her."

"How could you help her?" Jorah accused.

"Well for a start we have a common enemy. My lovely sister."

"She will more than likely execute you because of your sister. Not forgetting it was your brother who killed her father!"

"I doubt it, especially when she hears of what I can tell her about dragons." Tyrion told him smugly.

"She might feed you to one of them instead!" A slight smile curled Jorah's lip.

"Oh I doubt they'd eat me, dwarves are notoriously chewy." He laughed. Pleased with himself when his companion turned away to try and hide the smile on his face.

"In my experience they aren't too fussy."

Tyrion didn't press the conversation further. He knew the type of man Jorah Mormont was. Dedicated and loyal to a fault. Tyrion would have to watch himself and be careful how he dealt with this man. He was pretty sure that Mormont wouldn't kill him, but desperate men had been known to do desperate things.

"So why come to Essos?" Ser Jorah asked after a while.

"I shot my father with a cross bow while he was on the privy." Tyrion admitted. "He and my sister tried to have me executed for poisoning my nephew. Which I am innocent of by the way."

Jorah turned to stare at the twisted little man sitting on the bench next to him.

"Don't look at me like that! My father is, was one of the most manipulative and cruel people I have ever had the misfortune of knowing." Tyrion stared up at Ser Jorah. He decided that honesty would be the best way to convince this man to help him. "When I was a young man, I married a woman that my father did not approve of, and to show his displeasure he had her killed after every man on his personal guard had raped her." He paused. "And when he found out that I had fallen in love with a… another woman in Kings Landing, he paid her to testify against me at my trial. The night I killed my father I found her in his bed."

"I'm sorry." Jorah told him. He could hardly condemn a man for avenging a broken heart.

"Thank you. I only wish I had had the time to see to Cersei before I left."

"So you thought you'd offer your services to Danerys to get your revenge?" Jorah accused.

"Yes. I won't lie to you, I want nothing more than to see my sisters head on spike decorating a wall of the Red Keep. But aside from personal revenge, I know I can help your Queen reclaim the Iron Throne."

"And what's in it for you?"

"Hopefully I will get to keep my head, and I have to admit that I have rather taken a liking to the excitement of running a country. I have acted as both Kings Hand and Master of Coin you know." He boasted.

"And why should Danerys trust you?"

"She trusted you." Tyrion immediately regretted saying the words. He expected Jorah to lash out at him but instead the big knight hung his head. Tyrion realised he'd struck a nerve. "I'm sorry." He apologised. "I only meant that Danerys took your advice before.."

Ser Jorah stared at the horizon. "And I betrayed her."


	3. Chapter 3

The closer they sailed to Mereen the more Tyrion began to understand how desperate Ser Jorah Mormont was to return to his Queen. For Tyrion it was an educational experience. His life, up until his father named him Hand of the King during the war against the north, had been frivolous. He was a second son, a warped and twisted mongrel in his father and sisters eyes, not fit for any useful purpose in life. His only concern was his own happiness.

And then there were men like Ser Jorah Mormont. Stoic, selfless, incorruptible and willing to die for what they believed in. Tyrion suspected that Knights attachment to the young Queen went far beyond duty, it showed in his eyes when he spoke her name. Tyrion could not help but feel for the man. Unrequited love could be soul destroying.

It was dawn of their third day at sea when another ship appeared just off their port side through the fog. The crew ran about frantically, tightening sails and securing rigging. Tyrion sauntered over to the rail where Ser Jorah was talking to their ships captain. The captain nodded and bolted to the wheel.

"Something amiss?" Tyrion asked casually. "What is that smell?" He wrinkled his scarred face at the pungent odour drifting over them.

"Slavers." Jorah informed him.

"Oh, they won't bother us will they?" He asked hopefully.

Ser Jorah shook his head. "They mean to take us."

"Take us?" Tyrion exclaimed, beginning to panic. "Surely we can outrun them?"

"Find somewhere to hide." Jorah told him.

Tyrion nodded and offered his hand to Jorah, who clasped it after a moment of consternation.

When the slavers slammed into the side of their ship Tyrion was thrown to the deck. The invaders from the other ship swarmed on board.

Tyrion had no weapons to defend himself so all he could do was to put his hands up in surrender. Ser Jorah on the other hand had drawn his sword and was engaged in battle with half a dozen of the invaders. For a moment Tyrion stood mesmerised watching him in action. Mormont was not the most elegant fighter he had ever seen, but he was probably a match for Bronn. If he hadn't have lost his footing on the bloody deck and slipped, he might have turned the tide of the battle enough for the ship's crew to drive off the slavers.

When Ser Jorah hit the deck, one of his assailants kicked his weapon from his hand and stomped on Jorah's sword arm. Disarmed, pinned to the deck and with a sword at his throat there was nothing left to Jorah but to yield.

The point of the sword pressed hard enough into the soft skin under his jaw that he could feel a trickle of blood roll down the side of his neck. One of them reached down and plucked his dagger from his belt, handing it to a big ugly man with a scar running from above his empty right eye socket down to pucker the side of his mouth in a permanent sneer. He looked Jorah over for a moment, sucking loudly at his mouthful of broken and yellowed teeth.

"Take 'im below. This one'll fetch a good price at auction!" He laughed.

"What bout Dory, Fitch and Mal?" One of his crew pleaded. "E killed 'em." He pointed at the three dead men with his rusty sword as evidence.

"Yeah eye for an eye Cap'n!" Another shouted.

"Take his hands off!" Came another suggestion.

"An' you tell me, who'll pay for a fighter wiv no 'ands and no eyeballs, hey?" The Captain challenged them.

There was some muttering of discontent but eventually they got the Captains meaning. Men who could use a sword sold for gold not coppers like household slaves did.

One of the crew produced some horse hair rope and they tied Jorah's hands. Then they hauled him to his feet and began dragging him to the side of the boat. Jorah put up as much of a fight as he could.

"Quit yer strugglin!" The one who had stood on his arm told him and slammed the handle of Jorah's own sword into the back of his head. There was a blinding flash of pain and the world went black.

"..mont?" Jorah heard as he came to.

"Get off!" He rasped to whoever was shaking with him.

"I was beginning to think you were dead!" Tyrion told him, relief obvious in his voice.

Jorah was laying on his back in the ships hold. Rats scurried through the filth and the stench made him gag. He went to lift a hand to his head and found he was shackled hand and foot. He gingerly reached back and felt the lump on his head. When he rolled over he realised that Tyrion was watching him intently.

"I heard they are taking us to Mereen." Tyrion told him. "To be sold as slaves."

"Danerys closed the slave market." Jorah informed him.

Tyrion chewed a fingernail and lifted his head to look Jorah in the face.

"Danerys is marrying some Mereenese noble and the fighting pits have been re-opened as part of some agreement for peace." His chains rattled as he fidgeted.

"How do you know this?" Jorah demanded.

"The Captain finds dwarves interesting and I am a charming fellow, so he felt he could share the information with me." He bragged. "It would appear I am to be sold as an entertainer and you my friend, for your ability with a sword."

Jorah didn't answer, there was nothing to say and there was nothing he could do to change their situation.

"Who is she marrying?" Jorah asked after a time.

"Hizzin Lorak or something like that." Tyrion shrugged.

"Hizdahr zo Loraq?"

"That's it!" Jorah exclaimed. "You know of him?"

"Danerys had his father executed and sent Loraq to Yunkai as an ambassador."

"So he is a good man?"

"Hmph! I expect he is the one who convinced Danerys to re-open the fighting pits."

Jorah had had enough of talking and shuffled onto his side, facing away from Tyrion. He didn't want to think of Danerys agreeing to marry again, although he was a little surprised that it was not Daario Naharis who sought her hand. It was like a kick to the gut. After all the time they had been together she had never acknowledged him as a potential suitor. He had protected her, cared for her, loved her and she had taken another to her bed and was about to marry another. He wished he had told her the truth before Ser Barristan had made the discovery and outed him. Perhaps it was what he deserved for his betrayal.

Tyrion sat watching the big knight for a while. He knew he should be angry at the situation Mormont had gotten him into, but he couldn't. Without realising it, Ser Jorah had almost delivered him to the very person he and Varys needed to make contact with. Tyrion was sure that he would find a way to get to the Queen, just as he was sure that one of Varys' little birds would spot him somewhere and get word to him. He just hoped that Varys would be willing to rescue him, again!


	4. Chapter 4

Tyrion dutifully followed his new master away from the slave auctions. He glanced back at the platform but Ser Jorah was gone. His master had introduced himself a Yezzan zo Qaggaz. He was a trader who had purchased Tyrion on the recommendation of the captain of the slaver ship. He intended to give him to a friend as a wedding gift. What that meant, Tyrion had no idea, but he suspected or rather hoped that the "friend" might be Danerys' new husband.

At Yezzan's house, he was left in the care of two house slaves, who bathed and dressed him. When he was more presentable he was taken to Yezzan's chambers. Tyrion introduced himself as Yolo. He didn't want someone else recognising him and trying to sell him to Danerys or worse to Cersei. Best to remain incognito. Tyrion also hoped that by now on of Varys' people had spotted him at the auction or walking through the city with Yezzan and reported back to their employer.

"So Yolo tell me how does a dwarf such as yourself come to be so worldly?" Yezzan asked as Tyrion tucked into the food another slave had brought him.

"I travelled with a group of performers throughout most of Westeros." Tyrion lied.

"And how did you come to be in the possession of the good Captain?" Yezzan indicated for the slave girl to pour Tyrion a cup of wine.

"Well that is a long story." Tyrion gave Yezzan his most winning smile and was rewarded with an enthusiastic nod.

"My troupe and I performed at the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon."

"Ah yes I have heard of the wedding and that his uncle poisoned the child." Yezzan nodded.

"Yes, his uncle, a most undesirable rogue, whom I have an unfortunate resemblance to."

"He is a little man also?"

"Yes a dwarf, and a dreadfully ugly one at that. You know they say he has no nose, cut off by a whore." Tyrion could see he had Yezzan hooked by his story.

"And what of you own face? A dalliance with a prostitute perhaps?" Yezzan raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Alas no." Tyrion shook his head. "I have not met many whores who would bed a dwarf. No. No. This handsome face you see before you is the result of a kick to the face from a horse."

"Yes not so pleasant a tale."

"Anyway, after the King was poisoned and his uncle the dwarf was arrested, it seemed everywhere I went someone would point me out and call for the Kings soldiers. Apparently all dwarves look the same and the scar well… So I decided to try my talents elsewhere for a time. I was sailing for Mereen when the Captain and his crew took our ship and here I am!"

While Tyrion was being pampered and enjoying his new master's wine, Jorah was still locked in the storehouse. He had sat fuming about his meeting with Hizdahr. He wracked his brain trying to work out exactly how he had convinced Danerys to marry him. Jorah knew little about the man, other than his father had been a Mereenese nobleman, so he could only guess that Hizdahr had offered to buy her ships or another army. He blamed himself, he could have talked her out of it.

He cursed Danerys' stubbornness. He had tried time and time again to convince her that she should keep moving, that the allies and men they needed to claim the Iron Throne were in Westeros, but she would not listen. She was convinced that she had free all the slaves in Essos, and to rule there. Jorah knew that if she dallied too long, she would never cross the Narrow Sea. She needed to focus on one goal but she had proved easily distracted.

To distract himself from these thoughts he tried to put his shirt back on properly. The chain tethering his shackles to his collar was too short to allow him to lift the shirt back over his head. After nearly half an hour of trying to contort his body into various positions and chaffing the skin from around his wrists and neck he gave up in frustration. He kicked out in anger, his boot stirring up a small cloud of dust. Jorah slumped back against the wall, cursing himself.

When he calmed down, he took stock of his situation. They slavers had taken his weapons and armour. The shackles and chains meant that his movements were extremely limited, so even if he got his hands on a weapon there wasn't much he'd be able to do with it. His only chance to would be to somehow get to speak to Danerys.

Leaning back against the cool stone wall he closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered what had become of Tyrion Lannister. He doubted Dany's soon to be husband would know who he was, not that it would matter much, given the perverse nature of the fighting pits, Tyrion would probably end up a lion feed in the arena! Anyway without his gift of the Lannister there was every possibility that even if he did survive the fighting tomorrow, he would never get to see or speak to his Queen again. Even though he wasn't a godly man, Jorah said a quick prayer that Tyrion would get to Danerys, she needed another ally in her camp, especially a clever on like the Imp.

Yezzan zo Qaggaz travelled by palanquin through the streets of Mereen, his new purchase sat on a pile of cushions opposite from him, looking with interest at the exotic sights that greeted them.

"Hidahr will be a good master. He has many slaves, and he treats them well. I am sure he will find your tales very interesting, and I he is an avid crevasse player. Do your best to please him and you will have a comfortable life." Yezzan told Tyrion.

Life? Tyrion didn't like that idea very much, but at the moment his options were limited. He had no idea what had happened to Ser Jorah, but he suspected his countryman would not be faring quite so well. Yezzan had mentioned that the fighting pits were being re-opened and there would be a grand display to celebrate the Queens marriage. If Jorah ended up there, Tyrion doubted his friend would survive to see his Queen again.


	5. Chapter 5

They came for Jorah early the next morning. Two men dragged him blinking into the bright sunshine and lead him towards the fighting pits. They marched him through the lines of tents and stalls that surrounded the arena. The tents housed the merchants who could not afford or chose not to own houses further inside the city. Some of the brightly coloured tents had bodyguards standing outside, many wore collars and chains, marking them as slaves. Jorah wondered if Hizdahr zo Loraq hadn't bought him, if he would have ended up standing outside one of those tents?

His two guards lead him through one of the big arched entrances to the underside of the arena and then through a tunnel built into the walls of the structure. As they walked him through dark tunnel, lit here and there with torches, Jorah could hear voices from either side of him as they passed. Some calling out for water, for mercy, and others just talking. He realised that the walls on either side of him were lined with cells.

The guards pulled him to stop and shoved him into one of the cells, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Hey! How about some water?" He called out, but no one responded. He doubted they cared much, he was just another soon-to-be-dead slave as far as they were concerned.

According to Hizdahr, the fighting pits would open today following his marriage to Danerys. The pain of knowing his Queen was taking another man's hand in marriage was almost physical. Disheartened Jorah could not think of a way to stop her. He wondered why Ser Barristan hadn't done something to stop her making such a foolish decision? Suddenly it came to him - perhaps Ser Barristan was the key to the whole affair. Had he been pretending to be a loyal servant when all the time he was still an agent of the Baratheon's? Was his story of being "retired" from the Kings Guard just that? An elaborate story to get him into Danerys' inner circle so she could be destroyed from by her own council?

The more Jorah thought about it, the more it made sense. Ser Barristan had suddenly popped up one day, with his story. He swore he served her family and pledged his sword to her. Danerys had swallowed it whole, but Jorah had remained cynical. Was that how Ser Barristan came to intercept the letter from the Kings Hand reminding Jorah to collect his pardon? Had the old Knight actually been sending information back to Kings Landing? Did he bring that letter with him in the first place to use if he found Jorah to be too much of an obstacle?

It was all starting to make sense now. Selmy may even have orchestrated the whole affair. Hizdahr zo Loraq had been sent to Yunkai as an ambassador and yet here he was back in Mereen. Selmy would know by now that Dany would too easily sell herself for an army or enough ships to get her to Westeros, and that the likelihood of Loraq actually providing the ships was almost non-existent. Had the so-called Commander of the Queens Guard been the mastermind behind stopping Danerys' campaign in its tracks?

Jorah had worked for Varys and sent the information to him. He had never served Robert Baratheon directly. He had been a banner man to the Starks during the rebellion, and that had been the extent of his elegance. It was true King Robert had knighted him, but it could easily have been Rhaegar, if the Starks had supported the Targaryens. Ser Barristan Selmy was one of the greatest knights in the kingdom, he was sworn to the Targaryens, and yet when a new man sat on the throne, a man whose brother-in-law had killed Aerys, Ser Barristan continued to serve. Was his allegiance really to the white cloaks or was he now a Baratheon man?

With these thoughts burning in his mind, Jorah put aside his dismay and anger over Danerys' marriage and started thinking how in the world he was going to be able to get himself in a position to help her now? Whatever did, he would have to be very careful. He would have to continue to act like he didn't know what her Queens Guard was up to. Perhaps Tyrion Lannister was right about one thing, Jorah didn't hide his love for Danerys very well and perhaps he could use it to his advantage even more now. Who would really pay much attention to a love-sick exile fighting with all his might to return to the side of his Queen, just to bask in the glory of her presence?

If he could just get to speak to her for a moment….. That would be the hard part. Even if Dany forgave him, he was almost certain Ser Barristan would do all he could to keep him from spending any time alone with her. Grey Worm wouldn't be any help, he was completely loyal to Dany and would do anything to protect her. If Selmy named Jorah a threat, Grey Worm would not hesitate to protect the Queen. Daario Naharis, well there was no love lost between the two men, Jorah doubted he would help him. Missandei might be his best bet. Jorah knew the quiet Naath girl was found of him, so perhaps if he could speak to her, she might appeal to Danerys on his behalf.

But before Jorah could seek out potential allies he needed to do three things. One, survive the fighting pits and, two, convince Danerys that she should forgave him and third, convince everyone he was not a threat to the Queen.

Jorah looked up as the door to his cell opened. Three men entered his cell and closed the door behind them.

"On your feet." The leader ordered.

When Jorah didn't move fast enough, one of the others grabbed the chain attached to his collar and yanked him to his feet. Jorah grunted as the metal chaffed against his neck. As soon as the man let go of the chain his companion swung a punch into Jorah's gut. The three of them took turns pounding on him, after the leader warned them to avoid marking Jorah's face. Obviously his new owner wanted to make sure the odds were stacked against Jorah in the arena, but he didn't want to make it too obvious.

When they were satisfied with their efforts they left Jorah on the floor of his cell. When he finally caught his breath, he shuffled back against the wall and rubbed his aching ribs. He was grateful they hadn't thought to break either of his hands. He pushed himself up and began to walk around his cell. If he didn't keep moving, he'd stiffen up and that could get him killed very quickly in the arena.


	6. Chapter 6

Yezzan zo Qaggaz presented his gift to the Dragon Queen and her new husband with pride. He grinned at the expression on Hizdahr zo Loraq's face. His friend had tried to purchase the dwarf at the auction but he had outbid him. For many years they had played this game. Each trying to out-do the other and now Hizdahr had married a Queen and all that was left to Yezzan was to concede victory.

"My Queen." Yezzan bowed as deeply to her as his large belly allowed. "It gives me pleasure to present this small gift to you to celebrate your marriage." He motioned for Tyrion to step forward.

"I have no need of a slave." Danerys said coldly.

"If it pleases you my Lady, I would give myself into your service, even if I were not a slave." Tyrion gave her a florid bow.

"And what service would you perform for me?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"I can dance, and sing, and mime, and I am very well read in the histories and lore of Westeros. I would entertain you with stories of our home land." Tyrion announced with every ounce of charm he could muster.

"Where are you from in Westeros?" She raised an eyebrow at his offer.

"Lately I am of Kings Landing. I was made to perform at the Usurpers son's wedding." He knew that word would grab her attention.

"Made to perform?"

"Great Lady, I am a dwarf, a twisted ugly little lump but even I have standards. I only took part in the horrid event because I was given the offer of a hanging or a performance. Joffrey was a nasty little boy who I have heard shot little girls with his cross bow for fun. They made me dress up like a knight and ride a pig!"

"Ha ha ha!" Hizdahr laughed from beside Danerys. "My dear what a funny little fellow, come friend, sit with me. Tell me more of your stories." He motioned for another servant to place a chair next to his on the dais.

Tyrion bowed again to Danerys and headed for the chair. He made a show of not being able to climb up onto the chair, falling on the floor and acting the mummer, much to the enjoyment of Hizdahr. In the end Tyrion scrambled up onto his seat and brushed regally at his clothes. That brought more laughter from his new master.

As he sat on his seat, feeling rather pleased with his performance, Tyrion took stock of the men and women on the dais with the Queen and her new husband. From Ser Jorah's descriptions he guessed the beautiful dark-skinned girl seated beside Danerys was her handmaiden Missandei. Behind the Queen stood a tall, dark haired warrior. That would have to be Daario Naharis. Tyrion could not Ser Barristan Selmy or any of the Unsullied.

Tyrion wondered how it was the Queen only had one guard. He doubted very much that Queen's were safer in Essos than they were in Westeros. He was relieved however that Ser Barristan wasn't there, as he was the one person who could possibly identify him, even with the beard he had grown. He wondered what had happened to Ser Jorah. He had to admit that he had warmed up to the gruff knight on their ill-fated sea voyage. He could identify with a man who followed his heart even if it was to his own detriment.

The man who was occupying Tyrion's thoughts, was at that very moment involved in a lottery in the cells under the arena. The champions would carry their preferred weapons and the slaves they would fight against took part in a lottery to see what weapons or armour they would receive. Jorah drew his chip from the pot the armourer held out to him.

"Armour!" The man laughed. "Take 'im to the armour room."

The armour room turned out to be a cell full of the armour that had been taken from slaves and men who had died in the fighting pits. The guard removed Jorah's collar and shackles and told him to choose whatever he wanted. He found a half suit of armour, and selected the parts that were intact. Just a breastplate, pauldrons and vambraces. The rest was either too dented to fit or the straps had been cut when it was removed from its previous owner. It wasn't a perfect fit but it was better than nothing.

Jorah could hear the crowd up above in the stands. He wondered who or what they were cheering for. He and the other fighters were marched down towards the gate the opened onto the sand. There were a dozen men in the group, some wearing armour, some carrying swords, some carrying spears, some knives and other assorted weapons. Jorah was the only one without a weapon. He doubted that was a coincidence but he didn't doubt that most of his companions were seasoned warriors.

Jorah pushed his way through to the front of the group and stared out at the arena through the metal gate.

"This one's keen to die!" The guard laughed. But he was wrong, Jorah was prepared to do everything he could to survive. He wasn't staring out into the arena in fear but to help his eyes adjust to the bright sunshine. If he was to have any chance, he had to keep his wits about him and get his hands on a weapon.

The crowd roared and the gate opened. The five champions rushed out onto the sand and Jorah and the other slaves were shoved out after them by the guards. While the champions paraded in front of the Magisters box, waving to the crowds, Jorah was trying to assess the other slaves in the group.

Although he told himself not to, he looked up at the box. His hearted stopped at the sight of Danerys.

Tyrion gasped when he saw Ser Jorah stumble out on the hot sand amongst the group of slave fighters. When he noticed Hizdahr looking at him, he covered by saying he had not expected the main event to feature so many big brutes, and told his master of when he had seen the Mountain fight.

While Tyrion was pretending not to know who Ser Jorah was, Danerys was not hiding her shock at seeing her old friend in the pits below her. He heard her cry out his name.

"My dear whatever is he matter?" Hizdahr crooned. "Are you not pleased with the gift I have bought for you to celebrate our union?" He gave her an oily smile. "The traitor will die for his crimes against you my love."

"He has no weapons." Danerys could not help but stare at her former knight in horror.

"He was knight was he not?" Hizdahr teased.

Dany did not like how her husband referred to Jorah in the past tense.

"Perhaps the Queen feels the traitor would put on a better show if he had a weapon?" Tyrion suggested. He hoped his master wouldn't take offense and throw him into the ring as well. Not when he was so close to Danerys.

"I have seen the traitor fight." Daario Naharis added. "He is a good fighter, perhaps giving him a blade will make a better show?"

Danerys gave her paramour a quick smile of thanks, even though she was surprised at his offer.

Hizdahr thought for a moment, looking from Danerys to the men below them.

"Very well. Give him a blade." He told Daario, who pulled a dagger from his belt and headed for the front of the box.

"Mormont!" The sell sword called out.

Jorah had been watching his opponents when he heard his name being called. He turned to see Daario toss a dagger onto the sand in front of him. As he rushed to collect the weapon, around him the fighting began.


	7. Chapter 7

Jorah risked a quick glance up at the box and saw Danerys sitting on the edge of her seat, grasping Missandei's hand. If he had needed more encouragement, seeing Danerys looking so distressed, reaffirmed his determination to survive.

Jorah's first opponent was another slave. A dark man with a halberd, a wicked looking spear with a blade like a skinny axe on one edge, who looked like he had never held a weapon in his life. They paced slowly a few feet from each other. Jorah had been in enough one-on-one fights to know that being patient was the key. A sword might have been is preferred weapon, but he knew how to use a dagger. His opponent grew more confident the longer he waited for Jorah to make a move. He lunged a step forward and thrust the halberd at Jorah.

Jorah jumped backwards a step and twisted to the side. In the instant the man thrust his weapon at him, Jorah saw his opening. The man was holding the weapon so when the thrust the blade it was facing away from his opponent. All Jorah had to do was take a step towards him the next time he attacked and he would have him. A quick slash to the gut and the man dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. As he went to get back to his feet, Jorah was right behind him and rammed his blade into the point between his collarbone and neck.

As soon as the slave had fallen to the sand, crying out in agony, Jorah's next opponent came at him. This one was one of the champions of the pits. He attacked as soon as Jorah had stabbed the other man, slamming his gauntleted fist into Jorah's face, opening a cut along his cheekbone, and knocking the bloody dagger from his hand. Jorah spun away from him, trying to see where his weapon had landed.

The champion wore a boiled leather breastplate and his weapon of choice was a sword. He was a big brute of man, who used his size rather than skill to take down his opponents. Obviously most of the slaves who fought in the pits weren't skilled fighters and he assumed that Jorah was the same. That was his first mistake, his second was letting his opponent get his hands on the halberd the dark-skinned slave had dropped.

As Jorah crouched to pick up the halberd, the champion came at him with his sword raised over his head ready to deliver a deadly blow. The bellow he let out as he swung at Jorah was cut short when the spike of the halberd pierced his throat. Before his foe hit the sand, Jorah had dropped the spear and grabbed up the sword.

All around him men were dying, the champions were making short work of the slaves and turning on each other for the glory of receiving a hefty bag of silver from the magister who was now calling himself a king. The "kings" new Queen stared in horror at the spectacle occurring in front of her. Men, slaves were dying because she had agreed to let her new husband re-open his fighting pits. Missandei sat at her side and the two women gripped each other's hands at the anxiety of it all.

While Hizdahr cheered and clapped as his champions went about their work, Danerys sat silently, unable to look away from Jorah. She tried to convince herself that it was not her fault that her oldest friend had been sold into slavery and now fought for his life on the hot sand in front of her, in the fighting pits she had allowed to re-open. It would be too easy for her to blame his own treachery for the position he was now in, but she could not. She could have forgiven him, but instead she had exiled him.

Every slash of a sword or thud of a blade against a shield was like torture. The screams of the dying men seared her ears and yet she could not look away. Not while her Bear was still alive. The horror happening in front of her was made worse by the realisation that Jorah had been right all along. She could not trust these people and that she would too easily sell herself for a promise. It pained her even more that Ser Barristan had tried to convince her of the same, but she had not listened, instead sending him and Grey Worm away to deal with the threat the Harpy's children were becoming.

In front of them, Ser Jorah was fencing with his next opponent. This one danced around, light on his feet, his rapier clanging against Jorah's blade as they struck at each other. Their duel was fierce and fast. They parried back and forth, one man desperate for glory and the other fighting for his life.

The arena was large but by now there were bodies and weapons scattered around them, Jorah was acutely aware that his first opponent lay not far from where they were fighting. He could hear him crying out in pain and momentarily distracted he did not anticipate his opponent lunging at him. Jorah ducked backwards just in time, but not quick enough! Not wanting to step on the man dying beside him, Jorah over-compensated and lost his footing. As he went down the rapier struck his breast plate harmlessly, sliding of and biting into his sword arm just above the elbow. He dropped his sword as he hit the ground.

His opponent gave a cry of victory and armed the point of his rapier at Jorah, he looked up to the crowd, waving his free hand to encourage them to cheer louder, as he went to step closer and push the point of his blade through his victim's throat, he cried out in pain. He was so focused on killing Jorah, he was not aware of the helmeted champion standing behind him, not until he felt the spear enter his back. He arched his back, as to get away from the sharp metal, then his knees gave out and he began to fall. Jorah quickly rolled out of the way, so than man did not fall on him or skewer him with his blade as he fell.

Clutching his injured arm to stop the bleeding, Jorah rolled onto his feet, and quickly scanned the area for a weapon to defend himself with, but the pike man had not moved. Seizing the opportunity, Jorah picked up his own fallen sword. A quick glance at his wound told him it wasn't serious and he could grip a sword well enough to fight, but sight of his opponent standing frozen into front of him was unnerving.

If Jorah could have seen his expression through his helmet, he would have seen a look of amazement and pure terror. Behind him he heard an almighty roar and saw an impossibly shaped shadow cast on the sand. The pike man was backing away from him quickly and the crowd was screaming in terror. As Jorah turned to look behind him, he saw a section of the stands erupt into flame.

For a moment Jorah stood mesmerised as he watched Drogon swooping around the arena, spewing fire. It was the thought of another dragon that shook his from the daze. Danerys! Where was Danerys? He spun around to see that the royal box was now empty, except for Hizdahr zo Lorraq, who sat slumped in his chair. Danerys was gone.

"Jorah!" He heard a woman scream from somewhere behind him. Jorah spun to see Danerys, Missandei, Daario Naharis and Tyrion Lannister running across the sand towards him.

Without hesitation, Jorah ran towards them. Behind him Drogon landed on the arena with a light thud and shower of sand. He breathed fire on the dark-skinned slave Jorah had killed and grabbed the crunched remains in his horrendous jaws. As Jorah reached Danerys, he grabbed her arm to stop her heading the dragon.

Over the din, the dragon lifted his head and stared straight at their small party. Daario stepped in front of Dany to protect her from the great beast. He shouted and waved his sword to distract it from their Queen. Guards from around the arena were throwing spears at Drogon, and he spat fire in all directions. Dany struggled in Jorah's grip and called out to Drogon.

"Let me go I have to stop him." She cried, and Jorah did not know if she meant Drogon or Daario. She wrenched her arm from his grip and ran straight to her dragon.

Drogon did not even acknowledge his mother as she screamed his name. He enveloped her in flames as she called to him. An icy fist clenched around Jorah's heart, before he remembered his Khaleesi was the Unburnt. When the roiling flame died away, Danerys was still standing, her clothes burnt from her body, but otherwise unharmed. She ran to Drogon's side, ignoring the danger of his snapping jaws and vaulted up on his back.

Jorah and company watched horrified as the massive dragon spread its wings leapt into the sky.

"Danerys!" Jorah shouted as Drogon flew out of the arena with Danerys clinging to his back.

All around them, there were people crying in fear and screaming in agony. There were dead and dying everywhere, some parts of the arena were on fire and men ran with buckets of water to try and douse the flames. There were charred and smoking bodies everywhere.

Missandei was the first to move. She tore a strip from the bottom of her dress and bound the wound on Jorah's arm.

"We must get back to the pyramid." Daario said. "They may return there." He suggested.

No-one spoke. They headed for the main gate, along with those who were still able. Jorah had to wrap his good arm around Missandei's to keep her moving, the shock of what had just happened starting to hit.

"Where is Hizdahr?" Jorah finally asked as they ran.

"Dead." The sell sword told him. "He pulled a knife on Danerys when she tried to leave the box. I killed him."

Jorah nodded his acknowledgment. He may not like the sell sword and he may be deeply jealous of his relationship with Danerys but he was grateful to the man.


End file.
